


And All I've Got Left is Memories (of Your Face Smiling at Me)

by HikaruWinter



Series: Everywhere You Go They Grab Your Hand (But They Don't Understand) [1]
Category: Katekyou Hitman Reborn!
Genre: BAMF Skull (Reborn), Celtic Mythology & Folklore, How Do I Tag, Immortal Skull (Reborn), Multi, My Summary Making Skills Suck And I Feel Very Embarrased About It, Mythology - Freeform, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Skull is a BAMF, That's it, The Arcobaleno have no idea, Unconventional Uses for Dying Will Flames, What Would Happen If Skull Were A Figure Of Legend?, that's the fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-13
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-03-30 23:40:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13962588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HikaruWinter/pseuds/HikaruWinter
Summary: All men must die.But Skull- he has not been just a man for a long, long time.(He doesn't know what he is waiting for, what he has been waiting for, all this time. But he doesn't allow himself to regret it, either)(So, it's fine)(Heisfine.)





	1. Back to The Shadow

**Author's Note:**

> So. This happened.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A grieving Cloud is always so much worse than an angry one.

Here's the thing: Skull deMort died, and he did so alone.  
  
He'd been perched in a rock, in a deserted island bathed by the ancient waves of the Atlantic Ocean, dressed in his thick, padded biking suit, his ever-present helment sat beside him as he watched the sky with sad eyes, an image of silence and stillness. Of grief. Some could even say he'd been waiting, if there'd been anyone to witness it, although what for, they could've only wondered.  
  
It was no secret by then, that the Millefiore Famiglia had been hunting them, that they'd created radiation that targeted the wielders of the Tri-ni-Sette specifically, and that the Arcobaleno, the Il Prescelti Sette, they who endured the most weight from their burdens, were also the first to fall to its effects.  
  
It was ironic, the stuntman known as Skull mused, that the thing that was killing him and his would also kill the man that so zealously searched for their destruction, that had created the poison now suffused into their very beings, eating away at their flames faster than they could regenerate them, even with more that four decades acclimating to the greedy, eldritch Pacifier fastened around their necks.  
  
At least, the agonising, constant push and pull on his Flames was familiar.  
  
Practically everyone in the Mafia thought he'd been the first to die to Byarkuran's schemes.  
  
This was a lie.  
  
The first to die [to choke in his breath and _**fall**_ ] had been Verde.  
  
Fon had quickly followed.  
  
And with the Sky Arcobaleno, the Heiress of the Giglio Nero Famiglia, Aria's Child, firmly in the hands of their enemies, Colonnello, Lal and Senpai guarded by the Vongola Famiglia and Viper hidden amongst the Varia, Skull held no illusions as to whom would be targeted next. Had expected it, actually. Could already feel their flames approaching, his propagated Flame Sensitivity catching on to their confidence, their glee. Had been able to hear the whispers in the winds for hours, whispers that had turned to murmurs, that had turned to screeching, and howling, and _s c r e a m i n g_ , in indignation and rage and fury.  
  
A storm was brewing.  
  
But that was alright.  
  
He was a Cloud, after all, no matter how twisted and frayed and banked his flames were, these days. He hadn't changed, hadn't let himself change for nearly half a century out of spite for his kith, for their treatment of him, for their thoughtless cruelty and mindless violence.  
  
Skull hadn't let the Mafia change him.  
  
But then, he wasn't really Skull, was he?  
  
Skull was a farce, a character made to play a role, a façade he'd kept playing for forty years and change with no respite, unhesistantly, ceaselessly, because these people that The Man In The Iron Hat had dumped him with, that had been meant to be his family and support, had never wanted him. Had never even made an effort to know him, to look beneath the surface and to the roiling dephts of his being, to learn of him, his likes and dislikes, dreams and fears, to know his strenghts and weaknessess, to help him grow and let him help them grow.  
  
The Abyss had looked into them, and they hadn't even realized it.  
  
Fon came the closest. Fon, that was as kind as growing up an assassin in the Triads allowed, that had taught him meditation and quietly told him about Flames and their Attributes. Fon that had, unknowingly, inadvertly, taught the stuntman about inmensely familiar concepts in wildly unfamiliar terms. And it was because of Fon that the stuntman had stilled, had stopped running when he'd felt it, one of the three bonds that teethered him, fragile and tenuous as they were, breaking. Unexpectedly. Violently. [At least it was quick]  
  
In that moment, Skull stopped running.  
  
He froze, walking down the frozen shores of the seas bathing the northern edges of Mother Russia, and _stared_ east not as a child trapped in a situation he could never quite grasp, an innocent dragged to a world of casual violence and murder, but as a predator, a primal being of shadow and death, of murder.  
  
Skull stood, so very still and quiet, his blood all but thruming beneath his skin with the need to _ripshredtear_ while his soul howled, grief thick as sludge crawling like maggots, pushed by rage and fury that were like hunger, his very being _starved_ for the need for revenge even as icy wind cut at his exposed skin, a constant pain that numbed all others.  
  
[ **Nothing** in this world could ever heal the pain of a bond torn asunder].  
  
It was then, looking at the southeast like a bird of prey would stare at a particularly juicy mouse that the young man turned, and guided by an internal compass that had yet to fail him, walked with purposeful steps to the closest town to his location and, from there, made his way across the North Sea to his homeland and just-stopped.  
  
He lay his vows in the seas, sang his farewells to the winds and infused his will in the land itself, and stopped running, patient, unmoving.  
  
Waiting.  
  
Waiting as the enemy set the ambush around him. Waiting as they readied themselves, arrogant and confident in their victory, because he was the _Weakest Arcobaleno_ , right? Nothing but an witless civilian that had been unlucky enough to be dragged into the Mafia, as easy as prey ever got. Unlike Verde, with his security measures bordering on the overly-paranoid, even by Mafia Standards, and numerous hideouts all across the world, and Fon with his mastery of over a hundred Martial Art Styles and the might of the Triads at his beck and call. [Not that it had helped either of them any].  
  
Waiting, to turn the tables on them. [The fools hadn't even stopped to think why they hadn't caught him, who had no resources, no hideout, no backup and no help, first]  
  
He was in his homeland, after all.  
  
The rumbling of the storms, crashes of the waves and whispers of the land of his birth giving him strenght, empowering him in a way mankind had forgotten how to archieve, the Seal he'd taken so much time and effort to weave into his skin dissolving, bit by painful bit.  
  
And yet, he endured. [Pain was so familiar to him now]  
  
For Fon.  
  
Because as thin and threadbare and utterly fragile as it had been, the Storm had been _his_ , he had lain his claim, and _they'd taken him **away**_. As they would take Viper, despite the Varia. As they would take Senpai, no matter how much the Young Vongola had tried.  
  
It would not be borne. [He wouldn't have bothered, otherwise. People born in this time weren't worth it, ~~no Song in their Blood~~ , **no Challenge** ]  
  
It wasn't until he felt it, the _Invaders_ setting foot into _**his**_ Home, his Refuge, his **Territory** , that he called the Geas set into the very stones under his feet, drenched in the blood, the _Dying Will_ , of hundreds, thousands, _millions_ through centuries and millenia of War and Death, his own amongst their numbers, along with their _Belief_ [such a strong and carelessly dismissed force, Belief, when it was capable of powering the Will of thousands] and felt the land answer.  
  
He took off his gloves, his boots, his suit. The frayed muscle shit hidden underneath following, neatly folded over them all. His helmet, bearing the image of his lost little friend carefully set over the carefuly lain pile of clothes. And he rose, slow and predatory and a more hilarious sight than he deserved to be, the man trapped in the mien of a toddler stalking through earth and stone, prowling, hidden and ready, slipping into his mother tongue with thoughtless ease, his words reververating like thunder in the storm yet to break overhead.  
  
_“Oh, Blessed Isle of the Sky, Listen to This, My Song Unsung!"_ he declared, one more voice in the wind _" I Am He Who Wanders Eternally. I Am He Who Seeks Endlessly! I Am He, Whom Death Forwent. He, Whom Time Forgot! **I Am The Sadow**_.” a breath taken, a prayer given, a hope unspoken, a wish untold _“My Enemies Stand Before Me. Let Their Blood Drench your Shores! Their Screams Echo in the Wind! War Is at Your Door, Your King Calls!_ **Wake!** ”  
  
The World itself _stilled_.  
  
As if holding its collective breath, everything came to a halt save the advancing, unrelenting form of the toddler hidden by the ferns, the silence of the moment tasting of the calm before the storm, a weight falling heavily upon the shoulders of everyone present with no explanation or warning, stealing their breath and making them falter in their steps, in their approach, silencing taunts and turning glee into sudden, inexplicable terror.  
  
The ships unable to advance or retreat, battered by the waves from all sides, as if the currents had twisted on themselves, confused and panicked. The 'copters losing the wind beneath their helix, falling _downdown **down**_ into the depths, crashing quietly with explosions void of noise and fire, as if the air had been sucked away and only the Void remained. The land troops stumbling and falling over themselves from sudden tremors, the volcanic rock shifting and turning like quicksand under their feet.  
  
The Cloud had but a moment to feel the confusion, the _panic_ seeping through the flames in his range.  
  
And then-  
  
The earth _parted_.  
  
The sea _churned_.  
  
The sky _**fell**_.  
  
Even as he left the suit that had keept the radiaton in check, that had kept _him_ in check, behind him, like a tombstone upon a hill, even as he felt his flames wrench in agony at the sudden, undeniable _something_ gnawing at the edges of his very soul when he _forced_ them upwards, between the cracks and broken places of his being, even as they grew with fury and rage and euphory at the newly recovered freedom after so long trapped beneath his skin, the man known for the last forty three years as Skull prowled forward, tall and proud, knowing in his very bones that the bloodbath, for he would deliver nothing less that pure, merciless carnage as it hadn't been seen in _centuries_ , would be brushed off as bad luck, as a series of unfortunate events, a sudden storm, a magnetic pull, several malfunctions, an accident, and caring **naught** for it.  
  
He would bleed them, either way.  
  
_They_ would bleed, like they'd made Fon bleed.  
  
Like they would _make_ Viper bleed.  
  
Like they would make **Reborn** -  
  
And Skull? Skull let himself fade, let this being who was himself but not, that had been at the forefront for so, very long, return to the crevices and shadows from whence it came, let his self, the original, the true, [the forgone] be restored and returned to the fore.  
  
And as lines, thick and glowing with a malicious red light, lit right under his iconic make-up teardrop, under the two bandages on his face, curling around his neck and left arm and ribs to slip under thick, tight pants to curl around his thigh, _burning_ like hot coals, yet inmensely satisfying either way. Even as he _**grew**_ , slowly and undeniably, his truly monstruous Will, usually held in check, eating away at the Curse with the help of the Geas. Eroding it away so he may be freed from his form confined, the Curse falling like the weight of the Sky upon Atlas' back, trying to bank his very Will as he did, the mitigating effects gone, now more violent and desperate than it had ever been.  
  
He called his Flames, the power of his _soul_ , despite the pain, despite the agony, despite _everything_ , and let them curl just over the surface of his skin before _pulling them out_ and _shaping them_ with a practiced twist of his Will into a wicked, long spear seeped in blood and flooding their surroundings in unchecked bloodthirst that hadn't been felt for **centuries**.  
  
His bloodlust, made physical.  
  
He ignored the feel of the make-up on his face peeling, the now-lavender glow of the thick lines upon his skin, of his leather trousers fraying under the power he'd unleashed, and concentrated on the signatures, of the positions and locations and numbers of the people so _foolish_ as to try and set foot on _his Isle_ with no leave or invitation. These people that served the man that had caused the fall of one he called _his_. The ignorant mortals that had hunted and harried the Carcassa to the ground in search of him, ignorant of what they were provoking.  
  
The idiots that had infringed upon his land, killed one of his people and caused distress upon those that had sworn their fealty to him, and him alone.  
  
The Ancient Law of Three For Three called for retribution.  
  
And, oh, but he could already _taste_ it, their pain and fear on his tongue like water on the throat of a man dying of thirst. [He would **enjoy** this]  
  
There were many, he noted as he reached the edge of the cliff, eyes sharp and glowing brighter still than the Seal, now unmade, marring his pale flesh. His hand clenched and unclenched on his spear, the familiar ridges calming and spurning his hunger for _d **e**_ **s _p_** _a_ **i** _r_ by turns, violently purple flames licking at his shoulders and hips as his lips twitched, the snarl reververating in his mind like a mad beast roaring for freedom turning into a mockery of itself, wanting to change his neutral mien into a shy, gentle turn of the lips that looked positively beatific on his admiteddly pretty face. And all the more chilling for it.  
  
If the Millefiore Agents had been able to see him, a part of him noted vaguely, apathy taking root as rage tried to overwhelm him, they would have likened him to a portent of death.  
  
Unfortunate, then, that they were too busy panicking over the sudden, unexpected shift of circumstances to take note of the lonely figure stood above their heads.  
  
Some might have even survived.  
  
Still, there were many more than he would have expected Byakuran to send to deal with the Ignorant Weakling, the Civilian Lackey. Then again, he was still a Cloud, independently of his Reputation. Someone up the chain of command must have thought it better to overwhelm him with numbers, just in case.  
  
Or Skull had already shown himself a Monster in a Parallel reality, and Byakuran wanted to take no chances.  
  
No matter.  
  
The more, the merrier. [ **Definitely** going to enjoy this]  
  
And, for the first time in time uncounted, Scáthach the Black, King of the Isle of Skye, Warrior-King, Sorcerer of Shadows, The Rune Knight, He Who Achieved Immortalily Through Will Alone, _**smiled**_.  
  
True and unfettered and completely, utterly **terrifying** in its gentleness and innocence as only a challenge on his skills and mettle could earn, bleeding bloodlust as virulently as the spear at his side even as his fae features remained gentle, almost coy.  
  
[Once, long ago, a lazyass, laid-back fool of a savage had called him pretty, had called him cute. It was only with a spear in hand and a challenge in the horizon, that he'd called him _beautiful_ ]  
  
And with one last, stray thought going to the other Arcobaleno, that would be picked out one by one until none remained, to the Young Vongola, kind and generous and gone far too soon from this world, to his Famiglia, grieving and lost and in the verge of collapse, to the Carcassa, that had taken him in when he'd been left confused and floundering, reeling from a Curse unlike any he'd seen, dealt or experienced before, that had laughed and cried and raged by his side for so many years, had followed him in his stupid stunts and meaningless endeavours with mischievous smiles in their faces and eyes as warm as the Sun he'd once held close to his chest, he stepped forward, vowing never to retreat, never to give in, not even when his flames sputtered to nothing and his soul left to the Otherlands. To take all comers and laugh, laugh, _laugh_ in the face of death, despair and whatever horrors awaited.  
  
The man known as Skull, the ancient being known as Scáthach, closed his eyes and tilted his face towards the sky, taking a breath, long and deep, and slowly blinked his eyes open, watching the colors overhead twist and change as the sun set beneath the waves, the screech of the wind and roar of the seas resounding like a call to arms to his senses.  
  
His time was ticking.  
  
And he would make each second _**count**_.  
  
Still.  
  
One last beat, one last prayer, one last whisper of a name nearly forgotten by the annals of time, the parting strings of a song of farewell, before his eyes snapped open, his smile gentled, his posture loosened.  
  
_**And he raged**_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Gods, the formatting nearly _killed_ me, what the fuck?!  
>  My good wishes and compliments to the amazing people that inspired this... whatever this is. Oh, fuck, what am I even doing? I haven't even _had_ internet for two weeks, what the hell? The updates are going to be slow as fuck and I'm already feeling guilty about it! *goes sulk in a corner*  
>  The Amazing Ones:  
> \- Foxtron, Captain of the Reborn/Skull Ship, whose name remains unclear in the murky waters that are this Fandom, and Author of **The Inescapable Dragon vs The Unyielding Bakunawa** and **Run, Run As Fast As You Can**.  
>  -wolfsrainrules, co-Author of **Let them Live (Gods Do Not Love)** an EgyptianGod!Skull fic that is both marvelous and magnificent. Marveficent? And-  
>  -northpeach, her fellow co-Author, who was kind enough to encourage me to write my own fic, despite my very tenuous grasp on english dialogue, as can be noted, and dubious confidence in my own capabilities - I do tend to rant. A lot.  
> They're all awesome and an inspiration to us all.  
> Go check them out inmediately.  
> PS: The moment I figure out how to put the URLs of the works that inspired this one, I'm freaking doing it. See if I don't.


	2. I Dream You're Still Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skull has always been willing to live for the people he loves, even when they leave him behind. 
> 
> He'd promised, after all.
> 
> It should have been a pretty big, far fucking clue of the blatant persuasion, that he'd _died_ for the Arcobaleno instead. (Not that any of them can appreciate it, those idiots.)

_The sea was calm, was his first thought when he sat on the railing of the balcony, the dark stone glimmering silver under the moonlight, gilded the waves and painting the landscape in dark shades and sinuous shadows that were breathtaking in their beauty, despite the simmering sense of wrong that night brought upon them all._

_Then again, that could be just him._

_The sea was calm, the wind but a quiet whisper, and even the land, the murmur of the trees and grumbles of the earth, had given way to a quiet that bespoke of contentment, of peace._

_Maybe, it was that feeling that gave the sight such beauty._

_It could be._

_It was strange for him, his very existence so entrenched in blood and war, to feel such tranquility brush his essence, mingling with it. He, who could see beauty in war, in the arch of a sword strike, in the fierce determination and unbending will of ally and enemy alike, where others saw naught but a picture of despair, all the hopes in this world, dashed. But then again, even in war one could experience moments of silence, of quiet. Not of peace, however. It was never quite this content, never left him anything but expectant, his blood boiling in anticipation for the next clash. Like the calm before the storm._

_There was no storm coming, however._

_And still, it was… nice._

_He paid no more attention than they deserved to the footfalls making their way to him, the clicking sounds of armored boots kicking the stone with light, sure steps, until a weight made itself known at his back, settling contentedly against his side, giving the waves no attention or regard as he leant lazily on the rail, content as the world around them._

_“A beautiful night, isn't it, Master?” he asked, the low rumble of his voice filled with amusement, breaking through the silence shamelessly._

_But then, when was his disciple anything but shameless?_

_“As much as any other" he didn't bother to turn towards him, feeling his expectation in his very bones._

_It was a feeling he relished, for few were those capable to stand by his side, much less surpass his skill, and still, that was something this child_ would _do, his Will an inferno of Change, his brilliance as blatant as the Sun itself._

_It was because of that feeling that he quickly relented, giving in to the foolish puppy he’d somehow ended up teaching._

_“If you have questions, ask, brat” he sighed, exasperated and fond, turning mauve eyes towards the man by his side, the silly child that had, quite literally, stumbled into him bathing, declared the view nice, and then threatened him into lessons for his bloodied spear and clothes “Was that not my first lesson to you?”_

_“Hmm, I was just… wondering, I guess" he replied, his smirk just this side of smug._

_Such a brat._

_It was fortunate he knew how to deal with his shenanigans by now._

_“...Mayhap a refresher would do you well”_

_The smirk was promptly swept of by a wave of panic, as the man frantically tried to dissuade him of the notion._

_“No need, Master! This disciple is just-sleepy! Not thinking clearly, of course. Er…”_

_“The question, brat"_

_“I was-wondering, if you knew" he said, turning his face towards the waves._

_He resisted the urge to pinch his nose._

_“What now?”_

_Skirting around the subject was something this troublesome student of his did often. He blamed the nature of his essence._

_The wind was a wilful thing, and he tried not to punish his student for the nature he had been borne to._

_It was still irritating, however._

_The man grinned, of course he did, the irritating brat he was, warm as the Sun and as childish as he’d ever been._

_But there was-something, in his eyes._

_He didn't like it. It -whatever it was- didn't belong in his cheerful, happy puppy of a student._

_“I overheard a visiting Scholar-" he started, taking the tones of a storyteller with gleeful aplomb, the_ something _in his eyes taking a backseat to his overdramatic tendencies._

_Irritating brat. He was doing it on purpose, wasn't he?_

_“Of course you did” he interrupted, ever suffering, because of course his student couldn't be straightforward even for that, could he?_

_Definitely a brat._

_He even directed a look filled with reproach his way! No matter how playful it was, the idiot was clearly asking for extra training in the morrow._

_He’d be happy to oblige._

_(Poor, poor Ferdiad, he didn't know what awaited him.)_

_“I heard the Old Man, down in the marketplace by the port, say that light is the fastest thing there is!” he explained, triumphant “He said stars are made of light, like the Sun! And that they're really, really far away, yet, their light reaches us!”_

_“I see" it was interesting enough, he supposed, although he didn't know whatever that had to do with him._

_Still, giving in to the brat’s whims from time to time wasn't an entirely wrong pursuit. Sometimes they even demonstrated illuminating, providing insight into matters long abandoned in the corners and crevices of his soul._

_“Isn’t it funny, Master?” he smiled, sharp and smug, golden eyes glinting knowingly, before laughing, a boisterous sound that could be heard for miles._

_Irritating, obnoxious little brat._

_“How so?” he asked, curious, deciding that disciplining his student could wait for dawn, where his screams for mercy would go ignored by the populace at large._

_They were used to it, at this point._

_Besides, it would be rude to wake everyone up right this instant, and he prided himself for being a considerate Monarch, if nothing else._

_The grumpy cat that was the idiot’s companion didn't deserve to be woken by his friend’s idiocy, either, the poor man. He’d already been dragged into the insanity that were his lands to train alongside the sunny brat, dealing with the puppy day to day. No need to punish him further._

_He’d suffer enough at dawn_

_“Well" he paused, considering, taking a sideways look his way before turning to the sea, dark and open before their eyes._

_He slouched by his side, his weight in his is forearms, set beside him on the stone railing, their hair whipping in the wind, before turning his contemplative gaze on him._

_“Well-" he repeated, his voice a soft murmur in the night “-how can light be the fastest thing in this world, when it arrives always after the shadow?” he grinned cockyly, arrogance in every gesture._

_Yet, his eyes held naught but tenderness._

_He took a breath, very carefully, and let it go, valiantly ignoring the heat filling his cheeks as he tightened his lips in a stern line, despite already knowing, from previous taunts, that he looked as if he were pouting._

_“The point, brat?”_

_He laughed, unrestrained and free, and- he softened, his whole being._

_Truly, this child would never change._

_A part of him, the part he rarely ever acknowledged but never truly ignored, was unspeakably, unbearably thankful for this. For the world would be a darker place without his soul to light up with it's warmth and cheer._

_Still, he hit the brat on the shin, just in case._

_It wouldn't do for people to think he’d gone **soft** , of all things._

_“Now, now, Master. Don't go hitting me now! I speak but truth, after all" his grin, his cheer, his_ laughter _, turned into a serious line on his face with no warning, and he turned towards him, taking his slender hands on his own, broader one's “Master, they-people, that Scholar come from the East to speak his part, they say-they say light can't exist without darkness" his eyes darkened, his brow furrowed “That darkness can't exist without light"_

_Oh._

__Oh __

_And-he understood._

_Still, he groaned, not letting himself be affected by the grim tone and serious mien of this sunny child he adored more than words could ever express. It was-it was more than a little unsettling, because it didn't fit him, it didn't_ belong _in him, and he refused to see such a look on his face ever again, if it could be helped._

_“Get on with it, puppy" it was a whisper, but still, his voice was loud in the sudden stillness, the contentment of the moment shattered and broken beyond repair._

_He’d never longed for peace before, he probably never would, but-he wondered, if this feeling was it._

_He sometimes forgot the storm well hidden in the breast of this silly, cheerful moron. He shouldn't but, it was so easy._

_“You will exist long after I’m gone" it was a statement of fact, said with a certainty that couldn't be denied, couldn't be argued with, for it was a Truth of the World, a reality that would remain unchallenged by Time. Something, he thought sourly, he despised being reminded of “Darkness-Shadow, it needs no light to exist, only-it needs light to be_ appreciated _. This, I know, and I-" he fidgeted, averting his eyes even as the gentle grip on his hands tightened “I worry, is all”_

_The smile he directed his way was a tremulous, empty thing._

_“And I wanted-" he continued, taking a fortifying breath and going boldly forward, so unlike himself he left him bewildered “-you will be well when I’m gone, won't you? You will-will you be happy? Would you… promise me this, at least?”_

_The silence that followed had a weight all on its own._

_He would live, of this, he had no doubt._

_He had defied the laws of reality through the mastery of one skill and one skill alone, had reached beyond the realm of mortals without truly meaning to, looking, always looking for a challenge on a skill that had reached the height of humanity at his hands, and had surpassed it, thoughtlessly, carelessly, not long after._

_And, as always, there was a price to pay for reaching beyond one’s limitations, beyond one’s reach. Beyond what humanity was supposed to. He’d touched divinity, had slain it with the kind of unthinking strength that belonged not in a mortal’s grasp, when he didn't possess it, neither the blood, nor the favour, nor the curses._

_He would live._

_It was a promise he could make without pause or hesitation._

_But._

_Could he be happy?_

_He hadn’t known when he’d possessed strength and power beyond that of any other mortal, when he’d_ surpassed _it. His awareness belonged only for skill at arms, for his beloved Runes, for the spears he’d dedicated his life, already longer than it should have ever been, to._

_What was happiness?_

_Did it matter?_

_He sighed, suddenly so, very tired._

_“You silly dog" he murmured, pulling at his hands “Come here”_

_“Promise me first" he insisted, stubborn, a plea in sunburst eyes even as he set his shoulders, his sharp jaw tense._

_“Puppy…”_

_“Promise me" he repeated, firm. Unyielding._

_Because he knew - better than anyone, the sly bastard - that he had never made a promise he didn't intend to keep._

_And he would have gladly given this child his wish, his life and happiness left in his hands to do with them as he damn well pleases, but-_

_The problem was, he didn't know if he could keep this one._

_Still._

_He had never been able to deny him, course it all._

_“...Very well. I promise you this, mo cú. I will go on long after you’ve Departed this World, and I won't allow any to rip me from it without a Fight worth of Song"_

_He could feel it, the chains, the Geas that sat upon this land like a bear trap waiting to be sprung, thrum in his veins alongside his blood, settling in his heart with a soft, golden glow._

_He despised it with his whole being. And yet, he couldn't help but love it all the same -desperately._

_[Flame intermingled with Flame, Forevermore]_

_It was done._

_“What of your happiness, Master?” he asked, eyes intent and searching, almost desperate. For what, he didn't know._

_“I can't promise you that, silly pup" he stated, for it was another truth, the nebulousness of the emotion, the uncertainty of that which they call Future “I don't know if I’ll be happy. But...I’ll try. For you" he cleared his throat, returning his eyes to the black expanse of nothing that was the ocean._

_He was_ not _blushing. He_ wasn't!

_Whoever thought otherwise would be happily picked up as a volunteer to spar with him in the morrow. He had a trick to teach his students. It may end with the vict-volunteer going though a couple of the walls of his fortress, but needs must. Their sacrifice would be well remembered, he was sure. [As a warning]_

_He side-eyed his student and the -not!- blush intensified at the bright, warm glow of him, at the dusty shade of the youth’s own cheeks and cheerful grin directed his way._

_Why were puppies always so cute?! Why must he hold such weakness towards those eyes?! He was King, he shouldn't fold like wet parchment each and every time they were directed his way! It was unseemly!_

_He laughed, the irritating little shite!_

_“Master loves me, after all!” he remarked happily, all flowers and rainbows and adorableness, despite the fact that he was already a head and a half taller and at least half a body broader than the Master he was directing such look towards._

__Shameless _little shite._

 _That’s it, he was doubling training. For a_ month _. See how the brat likes it._

_They’d survive. Probably._

_“E-enough out of you! You-you **brat**!”_

_His only answer was a laugh, unrestrained and resounding in the calm of the night, alongside a smile, warm as the Sun, directed his way._

_Then-_ the world-

Changed.

_”Thank you, Master, for keeping your promise"_

_His breath caught._

_His student-he was-he was covered in blood. His puppy, his beloved, adored disciple, mauled and broken in body, if not in soul, and_ still smiling. _Why was he still smiling? Why-Why did he sound so relieved when he was_ dying _?!_

“Cú!”

 _He had to fix him, he_ could _fix him! Even if he had to_ bend _his very being in ways he was never meant to do so, he would! He’d been broken for so long already **[when?]** , just a little more, just a little further, for his hound._

_“ **It will be alright** ”_

The world twisted.

 _“But it’s not time yet, for you to join me" he continued, unimpeded by the blood ticking down his chin, the way his chest was sunken and his ribs poked through his skin in the macabre way he remembered_ Seeing _long before he’d met the man that would one day suffer such an end._

_Reclined against a stone, surrounded by the unmoving corpses of enemy and ally alike, the betrayal he’d been through, had been warned about and never truly believed in ever burning in his gaze._

_“ **Everything will be alright** ”_

_He was missing an eye, he noted, frozen in shock and horror. He’d been told, by the kitten’s son, that a lucky arrow from the traitors had taken one of his eyes, one of the eyes that had once upon a time looked upon him so gently, so tenderly, but he hadn't wanted to believe it, to see it-_

“What-?!”

_“They’re calling you back, your comrades” his smile was a nightmare that had haunted him for centuries, hollow and empty, parted lips tinted blue under the rich crimson of blood, his one remaining eye congealed in death, the golden sheen he’d kept close to his heart unrecognizable in death “Just-"_

_He hadn't wanted to see it, he'd never wanted to see it-!_

The world turned.

 _They were both uptight now, he noted absently, and still, the image didn't change, the_ nightmare _didn't change in his mind’s eye. And oh, but his rage had known no bounds, and still it felt insufficient in the face of the true damage infringed upon his student, his pride and joy, his happiness. His love._

_There was a reason he’d never wanted to see it._

_The world wouldn't have survived his rampage, had he seen it. It still might not._

_His student-mauled, broken, and so terribly still._

_He couldn't-_

_**“Please, I’m so sorry!** ”_

_“I’m always with you, mo scáth"_

He was pushed, and-

The world **shattered**.

And his silly hound, his beloved student, the idiot he’d once adored above all else, more than his life, his kingdom, his death, despite knowing his fate, knowing his _end_ , followed, fading in the blinding orange light that washed over everything around him. [Ever so easy to love, that fool.]

_**“Come back, please!”** _

_**“Come now, Rainbow Bearers, the Princess calls"** _

The light cleared and-

There were two craters in the middle of the clearing, the Young Vongola -so very young, younger than he’d been for _years_ \- had tears in his eyes and a frown maring his forehead, looking ahead with something dismayed and terribly sad in his gaze, barely kept uptight by his Storm and Rain.

And-only the Mist was as he should be. How…? No matter.

He’d just had his Hound within reach, and everything -life, death, everything in between- had slipped between his fingers, hadn't it?

The influx of memories, of _familiar-unknown-flame-that-isn’t_ wasn't helping. At all.

“No…”

He’d wanted-

They were speaking, his fellow Arcobaleno and the Young Tenth Generation of Vongola, but he could hear nothing, could see nothing but warm golden eyes and hair black and wild, the smile of a beast in a handsome face, bloodsoaked leather armour and crimson splatters on pale, freckled skin.

He stood back, and knew the others thought nothing of it.

But Skull-

He was-

“You’re all late"

His response was automatic, used as he was to that dismissive tone in that childish, squeaky voice, even as something within him _screamed_ because he didn't care, did he? Did he?! Why?! Why did he care?! He’d been one breath-not-taken, one wish-not-fulfilled away from him, from his greyhound, and still, he wanted-!

Something.

Anything!

His mind was a tangle of confusion and grief and **anger** and he couldn't-

“What did you say, Reborn?!” 

“Leave it, Skull, kora!” barked Colonnello, not even looking at him

No one was looking at him.

Thank the gods for his helmet because _he had no idea what face he was making_ and he didn't want anyone else to see. Couldn't bear to let any of them _see_.

But-

Some of that tangle unwove, the wave of grief became-bearable, with that simple, innocuous interaction. Just, yelling at Reborn a bit.

It, helped? Somehow.

He didn't even know anymore.

“Everyone really is an infant…”

Ah, right, this _was_ the first time the Young Vongola had met them all, wasn't it? It was… different, from last time around? The first time? He had been older, at least. Closer to his twenties, yes. Reborn had refused to speak of his Curse, _their_ Curse, until it was already too late.

The reaction was -would be? Had been? Urg, time-travel was confusing even when one wasn't the recipient, wasn't it?- the same, though.

It was strangely calming.

That was ok.

He needed calming. _**Desperately**_.

He also needed to _get the **heck away from**_ **here.**

Before he destroyed a good chunk of the countryside, if possible.

Unmaking the Seal had been an horrible, terrible idea and he regretted all the life-choices that had led to this [ _That was a lie, he regretted nothing but the shackles of the Curse he bore anew._ ]

“We all know the situation. Yuni communicated with us through the flames that went through our Pacifiers"

No wonder he had no fucking clue what the fuck was even going on anymore. He kept his Flames -the Core of them, that is- as far away from that _thing_ and its eldritch influence as physically possible when it was pretty much stuck to him and sucking on then like a particularly greedy leech.

After all, that was were-

His Flames spiked in sudden panic, terror cresting like wave on his senses, the anxiety, barely held at bay, crushing him and-

Don't think about it. _Don't think about it._

Just breathe, for the love of-

It will be over soon. Just a second, just a minute, just an hour, before running away, far away from here. Where he will be alone. Where he will be allowed to **grieve**. To scream, and destroy, and **rage**. To cry. But not here. Not here.

Just a little bit more.

“Yuni?”

“Yeah" Colonnello nodded.

Fon stepped forward, a serene smile on his face and eyes only for his young disciple and feral nephew.

Skull -he was Skull here, wasn't he? Amongst the Arcobaleno. He could be nothing but Skull in this place, he was _nothing but Skull_ , was allowed to be _nothing but Skull_. Don't break now. Hold it, _hold it_ , **c’mon**!- struggled to stay still.

Stillness was good. Stillness was expected. Skull was terrified of Reborn, still, wasn't he? Ten years ago? They were fuzzy, his memories, his _everything_. When had that changed? [ _They’d been dying already, right?_ ]

“Yuni also informed us of what influence Byakuran’s defeat would have on the world" informed the Chinese assassin.

It was Colonnello that continued to explain, the way not only their timeline, but all of them would reset to the point where the white-haired teenager would receive the Mare Rings, all the damage caused reversed, to the joy of everyone present.

He emptied his mind and allowed the words, the conversation, to wash over him, to numb him to everything else.

Verde, of course, stepped forward to dress down the redheaded young man -a fellow scientist, probably- with the very valid question about dimensions, and if it was truly possible to rewrite them like source-code. Rudely, since it was Verde.

“Yuni sacrificed her life in order to prevent that from happening" Fon turned to the Young Vongola with a warm smile, serene as always, but more honest, somehow, than Skull - _he was Skull, now_ \- ever remembered it being “With our aid, Yuni wanted her Flame to be undying. This way, she would be able to Seal away the Mare Rings in the past-or, in other words, your time, forever” Fon explained.

“Is it possible? To seal the Mare Rings in the past…?” inquired Tuna, exhausted and trembling.

Probably shock, starting to sink in.

He’d just… killed Byakuran, hadn't he? Had Reborn already talked to him?

No. Forget it. He couldn't afford to be concerned for someone else when he was the emotional equivalent of a strong breeze away from **_breaking_**.

“Yuni entrusted that task to us. She sacrificed her life, in order to create eternal peace"

Something in him **cracked**.

Eternal peace? **Don't joke with him!**

How disgustingly _**naïve**_.

 _He_ , his very being, his very _Essence_ was mired with War. He was Conflict made Manifest, the Embodiment of Sorrow, he was The Shadow. He’d twisted his Will, his Flame, when he’d yet to be considered anything but an insignificant ant in the eyes of the Weyr, and given it shape, and from it came a _weapon_ , a Spear, filled with bloodlust enough to render hardened knights silent, and a thirst for battle only Gods of War had been able to match. A Spear that could break causality with a singular ease that had frightened mortal and immortal alike, that had reduced beings of might and power into trembling, mewling lumps of fear at his feet.

He had been born to War, been made for it.

He despised War these days, yes. The impersonal, unfeeling nature of it. There was no match of Skill, no Crossing of Blades, no Song in their Blood, seeking their Glory amongst the corpses of the fallen, searching for Hope while walking over the bodies of friends, enemies and the forgotten. Not even their aim was entirely their own.

It was disgusting.

[ _Fon, Viper, even Lal were different. **Reborn** was different. The rest? All the same._ ]

Thing is, Scáthach _knew_ war in a way no mortal did, these days.

Knew Seals better than those that employed them to their own ends, as well.

Just because one conflict had been averted didn't mean war wouldn't happen again. [ _War was always happening, be it an Armed Conflict or an Internal Struggle_ ]

He would know.

“Yuni did say we would be able to return to ‘a peaceful past’" Reborn cut in, derailing Scáthach’s- Skull, _Skull_ , he was _Skull. Fuck_ -train of thought.

Breathe, he reminded himself.

Just breathe. Everything is over. It won't be okay for now, maybe not _ever_ , but it was over. It was _over_. Just breathe, and remember that which you’d forgotten - _the sound of his voice, the ring of his laugh, oh gods_ -, forget everything else but that which you wish to remember - _his smile, he'd never forgotten his smile, he **refused** to_ -, and reassert yourself.

He needed to reassert himself.

Or he wouldn't be the only one to suffer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So. I tried dialogue.  
> I warned you all I was awful at it (and the rough draft was even worse, urg).  
> Thankfully, the last few bits were translated from my manga, then paraphrased, so. That's something. [Spanish to English still comes easier orz]  
> I am very sorry for the long wait! I had this done the Wednesday before last, but. Internet. I warned you (and this week nothing opened because, national holiday, fuckdamnit)  
> I literally spent the whole day transcribing this from my laptop to my phone. AO3 erased my progress three times. [I am ready to commit murder if anyone asks me for the third chapter before Monday]  
> This was probably confusing too *sighs* Ok, ask away of you didn't get What The Heck Just Happened! And I shall answer.  
> [Also, Reborn/Skull seems more and more likely as time passes… still not certain. But. You known. Thought I ought to warn you so you may run, if you want. It’d be a ways away, however. I’m a bit of a sucker for slowburns? And want to try and write my own? I don't even know anymore…]


End file.
